Erich - Five.

Erich

            I had told Peter and Hersch that the Nazis traced their radio to find the hideout. That wasn’t true. They had come looking for me when I left my post at the wall. I hadn’t wanted them to think I was dangerous. I had wanted them to trust me. Why did I want them to trust me?

            After I left the war room that first day I spent the rest of my morning rounds deciding not to go back. I didn’t want to be involved. I was a soldier. I was not on their side. It wouldn’t be safe for me to work with them. For any of us. If I ever went back there the battalion could follow me again. It had happened already. I would lead the other soldiers right to Hersch if I tried going back. It was better that I stay away. They would be safer if I stayed away.

            I had a long day shift on the ground. I wasn’t off until early evening. I didn’t work the evening on account of my early watchtower shift. Back in the room I didn’t go to my own bed. I sat down on the one Gabe had slept in. There was still the faintest indent in the sheets where he had slept. I would have to straighten that out. There would be no explanation if the commander ran an inspection. But not yet. I laid down on my side. Pressed my face to the pillow. Trying to catch the smell of sweetness and smoke that always followed Gabe. But there was nothing.

            I hated myself. I hated myself for letting him cry. For ignoring him when all he tried to say was how much he missed me.

            This was too much. Too much had happened in just two days. I had hidden in routine for years. Hiding from shadows inside me. I had managed to go on by telling myself that Wellington’s was over. That it never happened. I could survive knowing that everyone who knew the truth about me was gone. But they had come back.

            I didn’t know what to do anymore. Angry or numb. It was all I had felt for two years. That was what made sense. That was what was safe. But now they had shattered the walls I put up. I could feel everything. Shame. Regret. Loneliness. Oh God the loneliness. It took over my body. I grabbed the sheets in my fists and squeezed my eyes shut. Fighting back against feelings I didn’t understand anymore. I lay shaking and heaving in the place Gabe had left behind. If I could have I would have cried. Did other people feel things this much? How did they survive?

            If the radio hadn’t crackled I wouldn’t have thought to call him. I sat up quickly. Afraid someone could hear me. But it was just feedback. I could hear Hersch’s distorted voice but couldn’t understand him. By the time I reached the radio the signal was dead. Hersch had tuned out. I hefted the thing up and turned it over in my hands. The radio was a great green rectangular box with a long antenna. It looked a little like a giant telephone with no dial or cord. Technology copied from the Americans. The thing was heavy and bigger than my head. I hated carrying it around. Until now it had never been of any use to me. Not until I realized I might be able to hear his voice.

            I flipped the thing on. Adjusted the antenna. I wondered if this would really work. He would have to be less than a mile away to hear me. I wanted to try, though. I had to try. I put my ear to the radio and listened. I wasn’t sure what to say. So I just started saying his name. It felt good to say his name.

“Are you there, Gabe. Gabe.” No answer. ““Gabe. Gabe, are you there?”

I heard rustling. Footsteps pounded over. “Erich, is that you?” He sounded shaky. “What’s wrong?”

“Gabe,” I breathed. I realized now that I couldn’t tell him why I called. “Are you all right?”

He paused. “I am. I’m at Peter’s.”

“Good,” I said quickly. “Good.” I thought about hanging up then. I was quiet for a minute. Wondering what else there was to say. “You’re safe?”

“I’m safe. Are you safe?” He sounded sad and scared. My stomach turned.

“I’m fine. Just, I’m just…” I was just what? I couldn’t tell him how much I needed to hear his voice. To know he was safe. “… Worried, about you.”

Gabe was quiet. I wondered if I had lost the connection. But then I heard it. Soft sniffling on the other end of the line. Crying. “What’s wrong?” I didn’t want to hear him cry. It made me feel sick. But I had to make up for last night.

“Nothing.” That was a lie. I realized this it was just as hard for Gabe. To hear each other’s voices but stay so far apart. To live without each other for years and still be separated when he finally found me. It was killing him. “Just don’t go anywhere, okay?”

I wanted to tell him no. I didn’t want Gabe thinking we could pick up where we left off. I didn’t want to hurt him by making him think we could still be together. But instead I said, “I’m here.” I sat heavily on the bed. Holding the receiver to my ear. Wondering what Gabe would say now that I had given him the chance.

But Gabe didn’t say anything. I knew he was there. But he didn’t talk. I realized that was how it had always been with us. Quiet. Sitting up on the roof not saying anything. Just knowing that he was there on the other end. I heard his mattress squeak. He was lying in bed. He would sleep soon. I would stay with him until he fell asleep. I thought about him lying in bed. Thought about him pulling his knees up to his chest. His black curls spread out on the pillow. His green eyes getting sleepy. Less than a mile away from me.

I listened until his breathing got heavy and even. Then I switched off the radio. I lit a cigarette and got into bed. Stared up at the ceiling. Thinking about what I had done.

           

            Not being involved wasn’t an option anymore after that night. How could I stay away when I was close enough to hear Gabe’s voice? I knew it would be dangerous for me to meet up with them. I could easily be followed again. But maybe I could help without Hersch or Peter knowing. Maybe I could start small.

It took me a few days to figure out how I could help. I would lose my nerve during the day. I would sometimes convince myself that I didn’t need to do anything. But at night I remembered. The unbearable urge to hear Gabe’s voice would take over me. To know he was safe. I passed two nights waiting for him to fall asleep on the other end of the radio. He was always fine. He was alone but he was safe. And by the time I clicked off the radio I would know what I had to do.

I would ask for a change of my guard shift. All nights. I could keep an eye on the Resistance. Surely they worked in the dark. I could at least turn a blind eye to anything I saw. Warn them of trouble. On the morning of the third day since the boys had turned up, I went to Dietrich.

Dietrich was not my immediate superior. He was far ahead of me in rank though he wasn’t much older than I was. His position should not have been as powerful as he made it. But nearly all the officers had been called into battle and our generals didn’t often come down from Krakow. Dietrich was only a Bezirks-Oberwachtmeister. A district senior watch master. But he outranked almost all three hundred of us in the battalion.

            Most of the boys in the battalion weren’t so different from me. Low-ranking, little training. We were late enlisters stuck with the Ordnungspolizei. The Order Police though we didn’t keep much order. We weren’t qualified for the army. Most were regular men who liked beer and boxing and didn’t want to do any killing. Most were less violent than I was. They would all be killers by the end. Capable of violence and cruelty and murder as the war dragged on. But in those last months guarding the ghetto most of us actively avoided joining the firing squads.

            But Walter Dietrich was not like the rest of them. He didn’t just join the firing squad. He ran the firing squad. Handpicked the soldiers like him who enjoyed killing. He didn’t belong in our unimportant battalion. He should have been assigned to one of the battalions we heard about. The ones used for major exterminations. But he liked being here. He was single-minded in his reason for staying. He wanted to end the Resistance.

            The boys said it all started when he got cut up. The rebel who wrecked Dietrich’s face got away. No one has gotten away from Dietrich since. They said it was the former Resistance leader. Das Zweite the soldiers called him. The Second. He was long gone.

Most of the men weren’t here back then so I didn’t completely know what happened after that. What I’ve gathered is that Dietrich has spent three years bringing down any chance the Jews have of rising up. It seems like he won too. There sure won’t be an uprising on Hersch’s watch. It kills Dietrich that he hasn’t been able to bring down the underground, though. The fact that every Jew hadn’t starved to death proved that they were getting food and supplies from somewhere else. He would never be happy until the town was liquidated.

            That was why I went to Dietrich to request permission to change my watch. I would tell him I was interested in the taking down the underground. I wanted to keep an eye on it. He would appreciate that. He would be happy with me.

            I went early in the morning. When he was in general’s office. He had taken over the office when it became clear that the generals did not give a s**t about our battalion. His posse wasn’t with him. Just his right hand, Rothbauer.

Rothbauer was my same rank but he was Dietrich’s favorite. Probably because he was even more sadistic. Dietrich had a system and a motive. But Rothbauer was just brutal to be brutal. And he wasn’t just a killer. Dietrich took him on special missions. These missions were reserved for Dietrich’s particular enemies. Missions where Rothbauer’s job was to rape. We all knew it happened. Boy and girls both, I heard. He made me sick to even look at.

They both stood and Heiled when I entered the room. “Heil!” I gave them my best salute. I wanted them to think I was serious.

“I hear you have been giving your shifts to Hochberg, Amery,” Dietrich said. He spoke German with a Munich accent. Dietrich was smaller than me. Especially behind his big desk. I don’t know what he looked like before he got cut up but he sure looked scary now. His left eye sagged and clouded over. But the right one was black and sharp. Like an animal. He kept his dark blond hair combed to the side. Trying to cover the damage. Rothbauer was better looking though it turned my stomach to think it. He was big and dark. Bigger than me. He came from somewhere in the south. Black Forest maybe. He didn’t say much. The big quiet type. “I hope you have not come to resign.” It was a joke. No one could resign.

“Nein,” I replied. “I have a request.

“As you were,” Dietrich motioned for me to relax my stance. “A request?”

I tried not to look him in the eye. I couldn’t let either of them see that I was lying. “I would like to switch to night watch, sir. I’m an unterwachtmeister now. A sturmmann. SS membership.” I glanced down at the jagged S’s on my collar. Not everyone in the battalion was a member. But I was. My father’s legacy. I was lucky I had a grey coat too. Grey for the SS. Not green for the battalion. It was all that fit me when clothes were issued. Luck of the draw. But it made me look like an SS man. Dietrich was SS too. He had more fine patches on his jacket than anyone I knew.

Dietrich put down his map. Glanced sideways at Rothbauer. “I see.” He wasn’t looking at my collar though. He was looking at my hat. The skull and crossbones insignia in the middle of my forehead. I hated being looked at like that. Berezovsky looked at me like that. Like he looked at me and saw a Nazi. “SS. Is that so?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And why the night watch?”

I swallowed hard. “The underground, sir. And the Resistance. I’ve taken an interest. I want to monitor their actions, sir.”

Like I guessed, Berezovsky’s face lit up at the name of the Resistance. I said it in Polish. Like the rebels did. Insurekcja. Insurrection. Hersch only called it “Resistance” in English. Rothbauer looked pleased too but he kept quiet. “The Resistance,” Dietrich grinned. “Let me see what I can do. Rothbauer, pass me the watch book.” He took the notebook and started paging through the guard schedules.

“Would not have known you for a rebel hunter, Amery,” he said without looking up. “Glad to hear it, though. The men ought to take a better interest. Everything we work for here could be taken away by that Russian yid Berezovsky and his Brats of Abraham.” Hersch and Rebecca. He knows they’re here. “You’re right to request the night watch. That’s when they come out, the vermin. There will be shooting, though. Have you done much killing, Amery?”

“No, sir.” And there wouldn’t be any more. Not if I could help it. 

Dietrich looked warily at me. “Better prepare then, soldier. We nearly have them, you know. They tunnels are closed. When we find the cockroaches there will be no place for them to run.” Wrong. The tunnels were supposed to be closed. But they must have managed to open some. The idea still terrified me. I wanted to wring his neck for talking like that about Hersch and Rebecca. “You’ll be there when we find them. I promise you that.”

“Sir. They must be very weak-willed, then, sir.”

That didn’t please Dietrich as much as I guessed. He and Rothbauer shared and dark look. “They are never weak-willed, Amery,” he said menacingly. “Weak-bodied, always. Untrained often. But the cockroaches will fight to the last one. If you ever doubt their persistence, look what they’ve done.” He pushed back his hair. Revealed the full damage to his cheek and eye and his missing ear. It really was disgusting. I curled the fingers on my right had self-consciously under my gloves. Was I that repulsive?

“A rebel did this to you, sir?” I knew that of course. But I wasn’t necessarily supposed to know it.

Rothbauer snorted. Dietrich silenced him with a look. “Not any Rebel. The Brat of Abraham did this. The Second. Herschel the second.” The Second. Hersch. Herschel Abrahamson Junior. Named for his father. Herschel die große they called his father. Herschel the great. And after him came The Second. I had always thought the second in command. But no. The second Herschel. I felt like I had been hit in the stomach. I strained to hold my soldierly stance. Hersch had attacked Dietrich.

“Abrahamson,” I faltered with the name. Tried to make it sound unfamiliar, “sir?”

“Yes, Herschel Abrahamson. The son of Abraham,” Dietrich seethed. Son of Abraham. The rebels’ name for their former leader. How had I never understood? But how could I have known this was Hersch’s ghetto? “A fitting name for the brat, isn’t it? Son of the first Jew. He led in his father’s place, when the Resistance was strong. The general had had enough of the rumors of his insurrection. He wanted a team of us to root the leader out, but only two volunteered, Stein and I, friends from home, you see.” It was impossible to imagine Dietrich as a young recruit. Dietrich with friends. “We thought we didn’t need more. The son of Abraham had an easy weakness. The boy was in love.” Kristen. They killed Kristen. “We caught the girl in our raid, but he still wouldn’t come out from his hole. The b***h was screaming at him to hide. I kept telling Stein that she was no use to us dead, but he shot her anyway, to shut her mouth.”

My breath was coming quick now. Rage. Hatred. I knew Dietrich had killed people. Innocent people. But I had seen what Kristen’s death did to Hersch. I realized Dietrich didn’t just kill people. He destroyed people. “Did he come for her, sir?” This was it. This was how Hersch and Rebecca escaped. Both men looked at me like I had no right to ask questions. “I only want to know, sir, so I know what I’m dealing with.”

Dietrich’s lip curled. “We left her for him to find. But we didn’t think he would come out so soon. We thought he would have better sense than to attack armed soldiers. A tactical genius, is what we heard of him. He came like a snake through the grass, though. Stein was dead before I even knew Abrahamson was there. Nearly ripped his lungs out through his back. He had a long, sharp knife on him: Berezovsky the butcher’s knife. You look pale, Amery.” Pale? It was all I could do to keep upright. Hersch had killed a man. Hersch had killed a soldier and escaped. He had done more killing than me. Did I ever know him at all?

“Fine, sir.”

“Yes, well,” Dietrich seemed not to want to talk about what happened next. I could guess why. “You can guess what he did next.” He pushed the hair down back over his face. “But I’d have had him, Amery. I’d have killed Herschel Abrahamson if it hadn’t been for his brat sister. She pulled him out of the fighting and down a tunnel. My reinforcements followed them, that was when we found the tunnels, but the gören got away. He destroyed his own revolution, you know. We knocked in the tunnels after that. They were counting on the tunnels.” Wrong again.

“Now,” Dietrich seemed to be winding down, “they say the boy is back. And as I live, he’ll pay his dues. But understand this, Amery, before you join this fight: never underestimate him. The Son of Abraham will never stop fighting.” He couldn’t know that Hersch had stopped fighting long ago. But Dietrich was right. I would never underestimate Hersch. He was no Son of Abraham. He was a Son of Thunder.

“Sir,” I prodded, hoping to get back on track, “the night watch?”

Dietrich shook his head. “Of course.” He put a finger to the page. “You already have most evenings on the ground? Six to midnight?” I nodded. “We’ll keep you there then. I’ll take Spiegelman off the watchtower for the AM shift. You’ll be on the wall from three until seven.”

I shuddered. Those would be long nights. The days were getting shorter and colder. “I’ll take it, sir. Thank you, sir.” I was tired of saying ‘sir’ to someone my own goddamn age.

He nodded and scratched the note in his book. “I admire your determination, Amery, that you came here to ask me. We could use more men like you.” The compliment made my skin crawl. I was a favorite of his now. An ideal soldier. It made me sick. “And I can guess you’ll want to be on my team for the liquidation?”

My heart stopped. “L-liquidation, sir?” I couldn’t help but stammer.

“Of course, Amery. The word only just came down the wire.” There was terror knotted in the pit of my stomach. “The Resistance will activate when they hear of it, but it will be too late by then.”

“W-what will happen, sir? In the liquidation?”

Rothbauer looked at me like I was an idiot. Dietrich just looked smug. “It will be the same as the other ghettos, I suppose. We’ll herd the strong onto the trains to the camps.” Oh God. The camps. What camps were even near here? Dietrich answered the question without being asked. “Our battalion will travel along to Sobibor and give a hand to the battalions there.” Give a hand. How could he use expressions like that to imply killing hundreds of people?

“And the weak, sir?” I had to know.

Dietrich’s eyes lit up. “My team will stay behind,” he said, “for the weak and the Resistance. You’ll be on my firing squad, Amery, for the extermination.”

The air froze in my lungs. Not because of what Dietrich said. I could have guessed that. But because for the first time since I entered that room, Rothbauer smiled.